Page 2 of Saving Ian Pope

“What a bargain. I would love both, autographed, please.” He traced a finger over my name on the cover, and I shivered, as if he’d trailed that same finger along my cheek. He said, almost in a whisper, “Ivy Chase.”

Patting my chest with an open palm, more to settle my heartbeat than anything else, I said, “That’s me.”

He placed the first book in front of me, and the tips of our fingers brushed as I slid the book closer. The electricity of his touch almost had me dropping my favorite purple pen—the panties were next.

I took a deep breath and flipped open the front cover, placing the tip of the pen on the page. A little blob of purple ink marked the spot. “What’s your name?”

“Ian.”

Holy shit. Surprisingly, my hand trembled only a fraction as I wrote out his name. I signed with my usual flair, the end of the E in my last name sweeping into a curve. I spun the book around for him and grabbed the second one.

He opened the cover, careful not to crease it, and read the inscription aloud. “For Ian. These words are yours.”

I kept my head down, my burning face buried in the second book. What had possessed me to write something so cringe? He must think I’m a total idiot, referencing a song title from his days in one of the most popular boybands in history. Would he dismiss me as an obnoxious fan? A crazed hanger-on? A stalker?

All I could manage for the second book was a shaky signature. I looked up as I handed the book to him and as soon as our eyes met, he threw his head back and laughed, a sound like water bubbling over a pebbly stream bed.

I chewed on my thumbnail as I studied him; then the corner of my mouth twitched into a half-smile. His laugh was pure joy. At least he hadn’t dropped the books and made a mad dash for the exit.

He dabbed at the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb. “Did you really just realize my identity when I said my name?”

“Yeah.” I sat forward. “It’s not that you’re not recognizable or that I don’t know who you are. Of course, I know who you are. I was a big fan of Five2Go back in the day. I-I mean now. I’m still a big fan...” I bit my bottom lip. “I should probably just shut up, right?”

He held up his hands. “It’s all good...Ivy. I don’t need to be recognized everywhere I go.” He flicked the brim of his hat. “Small disguises go a long way.”

Tilting my head, I said, “It would be a better disguise if you were wearing a Dodger hat. You wouldn’t stand out as much...or inspire as much hostility.”

“Excuse me, Ivy?” An older woman with a streak of pink in her gray hair plunked her book bag onto the table. “I’m a big fan of your books. I loved that series, Southwest Sheriffs. Nothing like hot sheriff’s deputies sweating through their khaki in the desert sun.”

As she fanned herself with her hand, she nudged Ian in the arm with her elbow and winked. He winked back before slipping on his sunglasses.

I covered my mouth and coughed. “I’m so glad you enjoyed that series. I’m starting a new miniseries with these two books—four brothers, all US Air Marshals.”

Ian muttered, “What are the odds?”

I managed to kick his foot under the table while grabbing a book. “They’re free today. Would you like both?”

“Absolutely. Can you sign one to Evelyn, that’s me, and one to Alicia? That’s my daughter.”

I eyed the diminishing stack of books on the table—the fewer the better. “If you have room in your bag, I’ll sign two for you and two for Alicia.”

The woman’s faded blue eyes sparkled to life. “That would be wonderful.”

I autographed four books, affixed the autographed by author sticker on each book and stacked them in front of Evelyn. As Evelyn’s gnarled hands reached for the books, she knocked them to the ground. My clumsiness was contagious or maybe nobody was immune from boyband charm.

“I’ve got them.” Ian ducked down and gathered them for Evelyn and tucked them into her book bag.

“What a nice English gentleman.” Evelyn squinted at Ian. “Are you married? I have a granddaughter about your age, and I could overlook those tattoos.”

I smirked as I raised my eyebrows at Ian. What would the nice English gentleman do to get out of this one? He probably had plenty of practice.

He gave Evelyn that crinkly-eyed smile and said, “I’m flattered you’d be willing to overlook the tattoos, but I’m in a relationship.” His brown eyes, alight with mischief, shifted to me.I died.

Nodding, Eveyln said, “Oh, I see. Very nice.”

Heat seared my cheeks, and I placed my hands against them to hide the blush. At least Evelyn had no idea she’d just tried to set up her granddaughter with a global popstar. Thank goodness, her granddaughter would never know, either. She’d probably be mortified.

When Evelyn left the booth, I planted my elbows on the table and buried my chin in my palm. “You see what happens when you venture into the romance novel booth at the book fair? A meet and greet with Fabio and a possible blind date. Whatareyou doing here, anyway? Do you live in LA?”

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